#written after endgame

he gift-wraps self-sacrifice and calls it love; he has never known how to love any other way. he has never given his heart in scraps - it has always been laid bare, whole and beating, on the altar.

and how does one love without an altar? how does one love without bleeding?

call him a martyr or call him a hero, but this kind of love always ends the same. he plants a kiss on the cheek of his love, and then plants his blood in the ground at their feet.

— martyr or hero, he has always been a tragedy // p.s.